


To Cure His Heart

by daoinhe



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: BDSM, Blood and Gore, Boot Worship, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 11:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21457123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daoinhe/pseuds/daoinhe
Summary: Spy, seeking a way to feel alive again, spends some time with Soldier.
Relationships: Soldier/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Kudos: 17





	To Cure His Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distasty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distasty/gifts).

> This was written as a gift for DISTASTY, my wonderful friend, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! The style is a bit experimental for me, and I do think it works well with this story. The song lyrics are from Venus In Furs by the Velvet Underground. If you do not know this song, please, find it on youtube, sink back into your couch and prepare to have your mind blown. Yes, it's that good...

Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather  
Whiplash girl child in the dark  
Clubs and bells, your servant, don’t forsake him  
Strike dear mistress and cure his heart

The strains of music lilted through the room like butterflies flitting, assaulting his ears with slow waves of chimes. The cold touched his bare skin, goosebumps rising and falling in waves. The floor so cold and so hard under his knees, concrete rough on bare skin, scraping when movements were too fast, urging him to go slowly, to control his body, a tai chi dance of death and lust unfurling like a budding leaf. The smell of leather and gunpowder filled his nostrils, the scents of war making his flaccid length flutter with interest. The tastes of war coated his tongue, mud and blood and a bitter chemical taste under it all. His arm wrapped tighter around the soiled boot, pulling it closer to his mouth, holding it like a lifeline. When the crop whistled through the air and fell on his bare shoulders, he grunted, curled protectively around his core and began to lave the leather shaft once more with his tongue. Wet trails of saliva cut through the gore coating the boot. The leather began to shine under his ministrations, the crop tapped lightly on his back, right between his shoulder blades, reminding him that his efforts were being monitored, judged. Reminding him that if he failed, he would be corrected. 

****************

Kiss the boot of shiny, shiny leather  
Shiny leather in the dark  
Tongue of thongs, the belt that does await you  
Strike dear mistress and cure his heart

The chaos of battle raged around him, he darted to the left and cloaked, waiting, waiting for harmony to appear from the chaos, that perfect, shining moment when a back would be left vulnerable. There, the Demoman not watching behind him, feeling safe in the protection of a Pyro whose attention was directed elsewhere. He stepped closer, his cloak dropping and slid the blade in, the angle perfect, the feel of flesh parting around his shining length of steel smooth and sensual. He breathed in deeply, scenting the fresh blood filling the air with a perfume rarer than jasmine, sweeter than honeysuckle. His legs trembling, he cloaked again, disappearing into the chaos like a ghost, eyes tracking the movements of the wounded man. The slow stagger, body not registering that it was dead, then the muscles loosening, relaxing into the darkness that he had created. The slow slide to the ground, forward momentum halted. Spy stifled a moan, his cock twitching against his thigh, the hot desert air caressing him like a gloved hand.  
His eyes turned to the man soaring overhead, all noise and thunder, body propelled by his own weapon, perfect death dropping from the sky onto the unsuspecting Pyro, blood flying beneath his boots, spattering the corpse he had just created, both bodies shimmering and disappearing, leaving behind a halo of blood, a snow angel made of the life force of his enemies. He watched as the thirsty ground soaked up their offering, Master and slave sacrificing to ancient gods of war. Still cloaked, his hand went to his cock, feeling the cage that kept him in check, that kept him from touching, holding, fondling that fragment of flesh that so fascinated him. He turned away, frustrated, and rejoined the chaos.

****************  
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather  
Whiplash girl child in the dark  
Severin, your servant comes in bells, please don’t forsake him  
Strike dear mistress and cure his heart

Booted foot pressed to his neck, pressure of deep treads on his spine, cutting, scraping, right where the knife should slip in, that sweet spot he loved to aim for. Whisper of dual whips through the air, striking buttocks, flesh clenching and unclenching, body bucking, wild, seeking to escape even though mind wanted more. Scream cutting the air like a knife, leather tail whipping between his legs, his sac on fire, caressed by tongues of flame. Fingers curling around leather, black leather, creased with wear but so shiny, face reflected, tears and snot and spit, face wet and staring back unrecognizable. That creature in agony, him but not him, his mind flying high, above the pain, thoughts breaking free like birds from a cage, swirling around him like autumn leaves. Smell of blood as the whips strike again, double time, a tandem tattoo on flesh like some insane battle chant. Sound of heavy breathing above him, exertion and excitement turning Master to Monster, Beast flailing at him, tearing him to shreds and then rebuilding him on an altar of ice. Shivers careening through him, nerve endings ablaze, soul encapsulated in quiet. Waiting for the pain to stop, not knowing when, that serene moment when pain became pleasure and the shards of his body were used as something other than a whipping block. Not caring what use he was put to, so long as he was used. His heart, what remained of it, belonged to the man above him, sweating and cursing, putting so much effort into what could have been a quick meeting in the night, a random spark of lust and exchange of fluids was now an exchange of souls. 

************  
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather  
Whiplash girl child in the dark  
Clubs and bells, your servant, don’t forsake him  
Strike dear mistress and cure his heart

Mud in his face smothering, choking, dulling the flames licking around his body, back blazing like a beacon as the enemy burned him. Writhing, screaming, begging for release, deaf ears above, only worms below. The pain receding, thunder reaching ears clogged with mud and pandemonium, eyes raised, watching, waiting for succor. Blood and shrieks, bits of gore falling like dark rain, arms raising him from his bed of tears and smoke, warmth engulfing his frigid front. Sanctuary found in Master’s arms, bumping, jostling, carried carelessly over a shoulder, back being spared. Flying, rockets bursting at their feet and then nothing but blue sky above and below. Black boots hitting dirt, crater in the ground from their landing, craters like the moon’s surface all around. Booms and the whirring of gears, war machine turning, endlessly turning as red haze surrounds, surrender to silence, succor from pain. Healing, skin knitting, gripping the Master’s calloused hand, dark angel with wings ripped away. Muttered breath, question dripping from lips like the last bit of blood from a corpse. Booming laughter, then turning away, promising death and vengeance. Left alone, only men now, no Master to hold him close. Empty inside, rising from the ground, knife in hand, small death flitting across the field searching for a victim. Wanting to make the Master proud. Longing to fill a jar with souls, lay it at his feet, seek approval in his eyes. 

***********  
I am tired, I am weary  
I could sleep for a thousand years  
A thousand dreams that would awake me  
Different colors made of tears

Body burning, ripping, tearing, pain and penetration, knees on concrete scraped raw, blood scent in the air, rich copper like a new penny. Whimpering, whining, rising into the universe as waves of pain and pleasure overlap, releasing, spilling seed on the dirty floor. Grunting satisfaction, Beast above him and in him, body moving to a primal rhythm, ears tuned to the music of thighs slapping, slamming together, stifled moans overtaking reason. Fullness of penetration, knife of flesh, impaled on a spear of hard meat, wanting more, always more. Sensation breaking through the dullness, the apathy of blood and pain that is this war, the only time life inhabits the body moments like this. Breaking down after, the freedom of tears in the darkness, forced from flesh by cruelty, forced into feeling by being bludgeoned near death. Sweet release of tears, warm arms to hold and comfort, calling of pet names sweetness like nectar sweeping over and under. A moment of warmth before the ice creeps back over beating heart, muffling the world once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope you've enjoyed this little experiment of mine. As always, comments and kudos are welcomed!


End file.
